


Those Who Wander

by SecretMaker



Series: Wanderlust [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate Compasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretMaker/pseuds/SecretMaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was the funny thing about the compasses. It was difficult to tell exactly what they were pointing at on any given day. Sure, your soulmate could be the guy in front of you, or it could be the girl at the end of the street, or it could be someone hundreds of miles away in the same direction. Unless you were right next to them it was impossible to tell - and not always easy then. Koutarou had spent many afternoons making his needle line up with various impossible people - old ladies, priests, a few teachers, Kenma even - to make a joke and get Kuroo to either groan or laugh. It was a game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Wander

_Keiji smiled to himself as he watched the needle on his wrist rotate. Bokuto was awake, moving around in the kitchen just a few steps away, making Keiji’s compass needle twitch and sweep in half-circles on his wrist. Keiji closed his eyes and let himself smile wider, holding his wrist close to his chest._  
  
-  
  
Koutarou let out a shout when the frizbee whizzed past his head. "Kuroo, you did that on purpose!" he accused. Kuroo only grinned at him.  
  
"Not my fault you can't catch," he called. Koutarou stuck his tongue out even as he went to retrieve the missing disk.  
  
There was some sort of event not far away from the field where he and Kuroo - and Kenma, not that you would know it from the way he was sitting to one side with his nose in a game - had come to play some catch and get some fresh air. The wayward frisbee took Koutarou to the very edge of the crowd. As he bent to pick it up he noticed his compass going still. Curious, he followed the line and grinned to himself. It almost looked like it was pointing to the stage, where a boy about Koutarou's age was sitting down with a violin. He snorted and jogged back to Kuroo.  
  
"Hey, man, check it out," he said, standing at his friend's shoulder and holding out his wrist. "It looks like it's pointing at that kid onstage." Kuroo laughed as well, cupping a hand over his brow to get a better look.  
  
"The one with the violin?" he asked. "Yeah right. Like someone that sophisticated could be stuck with a meathead like you." Koutarou grinned wider.  
  
"I know, right?" he crowed.  
  
That was the funny thing about the compasses. It was difficult to tell exactly what they were pointing at on any given day. Sure, your soulmate could be the guy in front of you, or it could be the girl at the end of the street, or it could be someone hundreds of miles away in the same direction. Unless you were right next to them it was impossible to tell - and not always easy then. Koutarou had spent many afternoons making his needle line up with various impossible people - old ladies, priests, a few teachers, Kenma even - to make a joke and get Kuroo to either groan or laugh. It was a game.  
  
Koutarou stepped away a few paces and threw the frisbee with all his might, all thoughts of the pretty boy with the violin forgotten.  
  
-  
  
Keiji smiled down at the needle on his wrist. The golden line pointing to his soulmate was particularly active today, jumping all over the place as though it simply couldn't stay still. The range was wider than normal too, making Keiji wonder if his soulmate was somewhere close by, maybe even in this same park. He hoped so.  
  
Keiji's mother glanced down at him with a fond smile and a gentle pat on the back. She was the one who had told him all the stories when he was young of compasses that point to love and true matches who were destined for one another. Keiji liked those stories. He liked how the gold line on his wrist seemed to grow warm every time she told them, how he could watch whomever he was destined to be with move about their life.  
  
It wasn't until he was older that he realized that his mother's compass had only ever been grey, moving restlessly in the same circle day in and day out. Keiji's father had died when he was an infant, and his mother had never been the same.  
  
"It seems more active than normal," she commented, nodding toward the compass on the back of his wrist. Keiji looked at it as well and allowed himself to hope. "Maybe they are here for the concert," she said. Keiji took a deep breath, adjusting his grip on the handle of his violin case.  
  
"I almost hope they are not," he replied. He smiled at her confused glance, hoping to reassure her. "I would be much more anxious if I knew they were listening. My performance would be so much more important then." She laughed, a light, clear sound, and pulled him close to her chest.  
  
"Maybe you are right," she said. "But it would still be a good thing, right? They would still be a music lover after all. Of course, if they are your soulmate they would have little choice." Keiji smiled and allowed himself to be reassured. He only had a few minutes before he was to take the stage after all, and he couldn't allow himself to be distracted.  
  
-  
  
Keiji was already exhausted when he clocked into work. The entire night before he had been barraged by messages from a panicking classmate who had forgotten about a project, one which wasn’t even due for another two weeks. Even after Keiji had assured the classmate - multiple times - that everything was fine, he was too worked up after the phone call to get any sleep. So the night had been spent getting farther ahead in classes he was already ahead in, reorganizing his kitchen, and building models of various wonders of the world out of toothpicks and cutlery.  
  
Sugawara took one look at Keiji as he shuffled behind the counter and burst out laughing.  
  
“You know, we have procedures in place for employees not coming in when they’re on death’s door,” he teased.  
  
“None of those procedures are in place for insomniacs,” Keiji answered. “I come in like this every day, you know that.” Suga chuckled, but there was something warm and concerned behind it.  
  
“Are you really okay?” he asked. Despite himself, Keiji smiled.  
  
“I’m fine, really,” he assured. “I’m used to this. I’ve been like this all my life, after all.” Suga rolled his eyes.  
  
“If you say so,” he sighed as he stretched, turning his attention to the stack of papers in his hand.  
  
“Koushi~” he sang, letting his eyelashes flutter.  
  
“No,” Suga intoned without looking up from his paperwork.  
  
“Oh, come on!” Keiji pleaded. “Just once?” Suga glared up at him.  
  
“I’ve already told you how I met my soulmates three times this week,” he argued. “No matter how many times you hear it, the story’s not going to change.” Keiji pouted.  
  
“Please, Koushi,” he said, letting his voice go soft and serious. “You know you’re the only one I can talk to about this.”  
  
“Don’t you have a tattoo to design?” Suga asked. Keiji whined and slumped back in his chair.  
  
“You are no fun,” he huffed. Suga laughed and shoved himself out of his chair, stepping around the counter and over to the coffee pot.  
  
“You wound me, Keiji,” he sighed.  
  
“I’ll take it back if you pour me a cup,” he called, flipping through his sketchbook. Suga chuckled and said nothing, simply placing a cup next to Keiji’s elbow as he passed.  
  
Keiji hummed his thanks and picked up a pencil. This tattoo was for an older client than Keiji was used to, a woman in her late fifties who wanted something to remind her of her mother. Or so she said. As soon as the woman’s son had slipped out of earshot she had leaned in to murmur in Keiji’s ear.  
  
“That old fuddy-duddy thinks I’m too old to be getting anything fun,” she had said. “So I want the most outrageous tattoo you can think of. I’ll pay extra if it’s something we can work out a cover story for.”  
  
Keiji smiled at the memory as he looked over his sketch. “Hey, Koushi,” he called without looking up. “How could a tiger riding a motorcycle remind someone of their dead mother?”  
  
“You asking for yourself or a client?” Suga responded. Koushi snorted.  
  
“My mother’s alive, thank you,” he sniffed. “And if I were getting something for her it would be a bear, not a tiger.” Suga came to sit next to him peering over his shoulder at the sketchbook.  
  
“Well, why the bear?” he asked.  
  
“Because bears are the best mothers in the wild,” Keiji answered promptly. “Because she was always as fierce as one when I was growing up.”  
  
“Well, there’s your answer,” Suga said. “The tiger’s a representation of her strength, the motorcycle of her free spirit. Is this for that lady whose son expects her to get a death poem or a rose or something?” Keiji nodded. Suga laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “You always get the best clients,” he chuckled.  
  
Before Keiji could answer the bell above the door rang. Suga stood to greet their new customer, leaving Keiji to his thoughts.  
  
-  
  
Koutarou had no idea what he was doing here.  
  
It was one thing to say he was going to build a shrine, to immortalize Emiko in some way, even if he had to do it on his own body. But to actually step into a tattoo parlor…  
  
No.  
  
No, there was no backing out now. Emiko deserved Koutarou’s complete devotion, and damn it, she was going to have it. He owed her that much. Squaring his shoulders he cast one last glance at the dark, terrifying sign above the door and stepped into the shop.  
  
It was… cleaner than he expected.  
  
Of course it was. Places like this needed to be licensed after all, so it’s not like they could stay in business while looking like a downtown back alley. The shop seemed to consist of three areas and a door, presumably to employee-only areas, or private rooms. The lobby where Koutarou was standing, lined with chairs and framed images of tattoos and piercings, was separated from the other two areas by a glass counter containing body jewelery in more varieties than Koutarou would have thought possible. Behind the counter there was a pair of cubicle-like spaces, each one furnished with a large chair and a rack of torture devices. Across from them was a table where an angel sat with a sketchbook.  
  
The person sitting next to the angel stood and approached Koutarou with a smile.  
  
“Welcome to AFK Tattoo,” he said. “I’m Sugawara Koushi. How can I help you?”  
  
“Ah, I’m uh,” Koutarou stuttered. “I’m here for, uhm, a-” he stared at Sugawara helplessly, willing himself not to glance at the beauty sitting across the room.  
  
“A piercing?” Sugawara suggested. “You seem like a septum ring kind of guy.”  
  
“Uh, n-no,” Koutarou said. “I actually wanted, um, a tattoo?” Sugawara smiled warmly at him.  
  
“Well, you’re in luck,” he said. “Akaashi there’s one of the best tattoo artists in the prefecture, and he happens to be totally free today. Right, Keiji?” Koutarou turned to look at the black-haired vision who didn’t so much as glance up from his sketchbook.  
  
“Do you have a design in mind?” he asked, just loud enough for Koutarou to hear.  
  
“Ah, yes!” Koutarou said. He scrambled in his pocket for the slip of paper he and Kuroo had spent hours on the last time they’d met. He looked down at Emiko’s name written out in Kuroo’s very best script and tried to fight back the stinging that rose to his eyes. Sugawara took it gently and smiled down at it.  
  
“Your soulmate?” he asked, and Akaashi started. Sugawara smirked over his shoulder before turning back to Koutarou.  
  
“Ah, sort of,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I was hers, at least.”  
  
“She’s not yours?” Koutarou looked up only to reel backwards at the magnitude of Akaashi’s beauty. He was standing at the counter now, close enough for Koutarou to see the delicate translucence of his skin, the petal-soft color of his lips, the glint of his earrings and the curl of ink poking out from under his collar. He forced himself to look directly at Akaashi’s eyes - his beautiful, deep, swirling, green eyes - and shrugged.  
  
“Not really,” he said. “I never had a needle for her, but she had one for me. A black one, but still.  
  
“Well, as I said, Akaashi here is free all day, so I think we can get you hooked up. Keiji?” Sugawara looked at Akaashi with a strange smirk on his face, to which Akaashi huffed and rolled his eyes. Sugawara handed him the paper and he bent to study it.  
  
“This is going to be about nine thousand yen,” he said, glancing up at Koutarou. “Where would you like it?” Koutarou rolled up his sleeve and indicated the are above his compass. He glanced down and bit back a snort when he noticed the blue-green needle pointing directly at Akaashi. “Would you like to do this today?” Akaashi asked.  
  
“Ah, if that’s okay?” Koutarou answered. Akaashi simply nodded and turned away.  
  
“I’ll need you to sign some consent forms,” Sugawara was saying. Koutarou startled and turned back to him with a sheepish smile.  
  
“Oh, uh, sure,” he stuttered, reaching out to take the papers from Sugawara’s outstretched hands. Sugawara smirked at him.  
  
“Don’t worry, you’re definitely not the first one to get tongue-tied around him,” he said, clapping Koutarou on the shoulder. “He has that effect on almost everyone. And everyone who isn’t stunned by him is usually shocked by me, so…” Sugawara shrugged.  
  
Koutarou chuckled. “Believe me, I don’t doubt that for a second,” he said, very obviously looking Sugawara up and down. Sugawara grinned and winked. He glanced over his shoulder, and when he turned back his face was serious.  
  
“I should warn you though,” he said softly. “Keiji’s very serious about finding his soulmate. He’s been known to kick customers out before for flirting with him too much. Seems to think it’s cheating or something. But you seem like a nice guy, and I’m sick of losing customers.” He shot Koutarou a blinding grin and slapped his arm again. Koutarou watched in confusion as he flounced off into the back of the shop without another word. As he disappeared Akaashi rounded the corner again, still staring down at the page Koutarou had handed him.  
  
“Did Koushi give you the consent forms?” he asked without looking up. Koutarou startled and scrambled to scribble his name on the forms in front of him.  
  
“Here you go!” he half-shouted, presenting the stack to Akaashi with his trademark grin. Akaashi barely spared him a glance as he took them.  
  
“If you will come with me,” he said and led the way over to one of the chairs. He sat gingerly and held out his hand when Akaashi reached for it.  
  
“Do you know how this process works?” Akaashi asked, studying Koutarou’s wrist with interest. Koutarou fought back a blush, noticing that his needle was still pointing toward Akaashi.  
  
“Uh, yeah, I did some research,” Koutarou answered. Akaashi nodded, rolling his chair over to a cabinet.  
  
“If you have any questions at any point, do not hesitate to ask,” he said as he dug around, pulling out gloves and ointments and a razor. Koutarou looked down at his wrist again, realizing with a jolt that this would be the last time he saw it so bare.  
  
Another jolt shocked through him and he peered at his compass more closely. The needle was still pointing at Akaashi.  
  
Akaashi rolled back toward him, setting his supplies down on a nearby table, then crossed the room again to feed the sheet with Koutarou’s design into a machine. The blue line on Koutarou’s wrist followed him through the entire process.  
  
“Are you okay?” Koutarou’s head jerked up. Akaashi was sitting in front of him now, pulling the gloves on over the ends of his long sleeves. Koutarou nodded, feeling dizzy.  
  
“I- I’m fine,” he stuttered. Akaashi smiled, and Koutarou was sure he would die if he did it again.  
  
“It’s okay to be nervous,” he said as he reached for a jar of ointment. He started slathering it on Koutarou’s wrist as he spoke. “A lot of people worry that I’ll mess it up somehow, or that it will hurt more than they expect. But rest assured I have steady hands.” He looked up at Koutarou and something in his gaze was so steady, so sure, that Koutarou felt himself relax.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Koutarou said. “Sorry, I’m just really new to all this. I don’t even know anyone with a tattoo; I work at a library.” Akaashi smiled at that.  
  
“I would not expect that,” he said as he picked up the razor. Koutarou groaned dramatically.  
  
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he whined. “My coworkers are always telling me that I’ll never be taken seriously like this, but none of my kids ever care!”  
  
“Your kids?” Akaashi asked, not glancing up from his work. He drew the razor so smoothly across Koutarou’s skin that he almost didn’t notice the sensation at all.  
  
“I’m a children’s librarian,” Koutarou explained. “I have a group of kids who always come in for story time or homework help. Emi-chan was one of them.”  
  
“And you were her soulmate?” Akaashi asked. This time he was staring up at Koutarou, those deep emerald eyes fixated on him. Koutarou swallowed hard and nodded.  
  
“Yeah, I was. It freaked her mom and I out at first. Y’know, having a six year old come up to a grown man with a needle pointing right at him is kinda scary.”  
  
Akaashi set down the razor and rolled over to the machine that had swallowed Koutarou’s paper. He picked up another sheet from the machine and held it against Koutarou’s wrist, smoothing it into place. “How’s that placement?” Koutarou nodded and watched as Akaashi peeled the paper away, revealing an outline of Emiko’s name on his skin.“So what happened?” Akaashi asked.  
  
“Well, she was sick,” Koutarou answered. “Her mom brought her in a few times a week so she could read or hang out with other kids. After a year or so she couldn’t come to the library any more, so I set it up with her mom and my boss and started spending a little time every day in her ward at the hospital.” The stinging in his eyes was back, accompanied by the hot lump in his throat as well. “I worked with other kids in the ward too, but I spent most of my time with her. She was special, y’know?” Akaashi looked up at him with something sparkling in his eyes and Koutarou had to fight not to blush.  
  
“It is very rare to have a one-sided soul bond, isn’t it?” Akaashi asked. Koutarou shrugged.  
  
“I did a bit of reading when we found out,” he admitted. “Some people say it’s impossible, some say it’s rare, some say it happens all the time. I guess it depends who you ask.” Akaashi turned on the machine and dipped his needle in a cup of ink.  
  
“I’m going to start now,” he warned. “If you need to, you can grip the arm of the chair with your other hand. Or we have stress balls if you like.”  
  
“I’m good,” Koutarou said, but he did hold onto the chair a little tighter. Akaashi gave him a tiny smile and bent to his work.  
  
-  
  
“He was adorable,” Suga said the instant the door closed behind the wild-haired man Keiji had just finished tattooing. Keiji rolled his eyes as he finished cleaning his station. “Oh, come on, Keiji!” Suga moaned, flopping into the empty tattoo chair. “He was good-looking, he likes kids, he works in a library,” Suga counted, ticking off each quality on his fingers. “What could you possibly have to say against him?”  
  
“He’s not my soulmate,” Keiji said with a shrug. Suga groaned.  
  
“Keiji, he huffed. “I am asking you as your friend and someone who loves you and cares for your well-being. Forget about your soulmate for one night and get yourself laid, please.” Keiji shook his head, glaring fondly at Suga.  
  
“Get up, I need to sanitize that chair,” was all he said. Suga complied with a grumble.  
  
“You know, when I told you about that bet I had with Ryuu and Kei, I was hoping you’d help me out a bit,” he said. “But if you keep this up I’m going to have to endure two whole movie nights of their choice. Two.” He leaned over Keiji’s workstation dramatically, staring Keiji down with all the intensity he usually saved for his clients. “Ryuu’s gonna want to watch chick flics and try and make me cry, and Kei will put on all of the Land Before Time movies. Again. Keiji, there are thirteen of them.” Keiji chuckled as he continued wiping down his equipment.  
  
“You’ve survived it before,” he pointed out. The room was quiet for a moment, quiet and tense. Then Suga spoke in a low, dangerous voice.  
  
“If you fail me, Keiji, you will be watching them with me,” he threatened.  
  
“I’ll bring the popcorn.” Suga let out a wail and slumped to the ground.  
  
“I thought you loved me,” he sobbed. Keiji snorted.  
  
Suga wasn’t wrong, though. Keiji knew he wouldn’t be seeing Bokuto again outside of the shop - that’s if he even came back in; for all his wild hair and loud voice he hadn’t seemed like the type to get multiple tattoos - but there was something appealing in the thought. Whoever Bokuto’s soulmate turned out to be, they were a lucky person.  
  
With a mental shrug Keiji pushed all thoughts of the man away.  
  
-  
  
“Bro. You know I’m here for you whenever you need me, and I love when you come to visit, but really?” Koutarou blinked up at Kuroo from his place sprawled on the floor of his and Kenma’s apartment, nestled in a mountain of their blankets and pillows.  
  
“Dude, you’re never gonna believe what happened to me today,” he said. Kuroo raised an eyebrow.  
  
“You got a tattoo?” he guessed. Koutarou shook his head.  
  
“I met an angel and my compass followed him around,” Koutarou said. Kuroo’s other eyebrow followed its twin.  
  
“Bro, that’s amazing!” he hollered. Koutarou shook his head again. “Not amazing?” Kuroo asked.  
  
“He didn’t notice, and I didn’t say anything,” he said.  
  
“Wait, did his compass point to you?” Kuroo asked.  
  
“Dunno,” Koutarou answered. “He had it covered by his sleeve and the gloves. I couldn’t see it.” Kuroo’s frame seemed to slump. He dropped to his knees and crawled into Koutarou’s nest, nuzzling in beside him.  
  
“That sucks, man,” he said. “Did you get his name at least?”  
  
Koutarou couldn’t help the smile that rose to his face, nor the warmth that flooded his chest and his cheeks. “Keiji,” he said. “Akaashi Keiji.”  
  
“What about him?” Both Kuroo and Koutarou started when Kenma spoke from the doorway. He spared them a disdain-filled glance as he crossed the room.  
  
“What do you mean ‘what about him’?” Kuroo asked. “Kenma, do you know him?” Kenma shrugged from his place bent over in front of the fridge.  
  
“We’ve had a few classes together,” he answered. “He and Koushi and Hajime let me stay in the shop to draw sometimes. He’s a nice guy. Quiet. Ruthless.”  
  
“Sounds like he’s just your type,” Kuroo grumbled. Kenma finished poking around in the fridge and crawled into the nest and into Kuroo’s lap. Kuroo wrapped his arms around him without thought.  
  
“So what about him?” Kenma asked. “Please don’t bother him, I’ve tried very hard to keep certain people separate from you two.”  
  
“He did Bo’s tattoo today,” Kuroo said. “And apparently he’s-”  
  
“No!” Koutarou shouted. Kuroo blinked at him in surprise. “No, I dunno man. I think I was wrong about that. Just. No.” Kenma and Kuroo were wearing matching looks of vaguely fond befuddlement, something Koutarou would have teased them about on any other day. Instead he just shrugged and stared down at the pattern quilt draped across his lap.  
  
He could feel both Kenma and Kuroo staring at him but he refused to look up.  
  
“Bo?” Kuroo prompted. Koutarou shrugged.  
  
“Well, I mean, if he’s the kind of guy Kenma’d keep away from me, then…” he fell silent, staring at nothing.  
  
“I just meant for you not to bother him,” Kenma said. “He would actually probably enjoy being around you. For some reason.” Koutarou glanced at Kenma, only to find himself under the scrutiny of those inescapable eyes.  
  
“What’s on your mind, Kitten?” Kuroo asked. Kenma glanced in his direction, but settled his gaze on Koutarou again.  
  
“He would want to know,” Kenma sighed. He flopped back against Kuroo and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Koutarou could hear the muffled sound of a game coming from its speakers. “It’s important to him for some reason.”  
  
“Well, not all of us got to meet our soulmates when we were five,” Koutarou pointed out with a huff. Kenma drew his eyes away from the screen only long enough to blink at Koutarou before turning back. Koutarou snorted and let himself fall onto his back.  
  
He drifted off to sleep to the sound of Kenma playing and Kuroo commentating under his breath.  
  
-  
  
Keiji did not dwell on the owl-haired man with the child for a soulmate, even if only because he did not have time to. The day after he had inked the girl’s name on his skin the shop’s popularity seemed to boom, and all because of the single most irritating man Keiji had ever come into contact with.  
  
“Oikawa-san, what kind of tattoo are you getting?”  
  
“Oikawa-san, you’re so cool!”  
  
“Don’t tattoos hurt? Oikawa-san, you’re so brave!”  
  
“I swear, all I hear these days is ‘Oikawa-san, Oikawa-san!’,” Keiji mumbled under his breath. Iwaizumi snorted.  
  
“You should try living with him,” he grumbled. “Picking him up from practice is an absolute nightmare.” Keiji looked to where Oikawa was showing off the river Iwaizumi had inked onto his calf -again- and shook his head.  
  
“My most sincere condolences,” he deadpanned. Iwaizumi glared at him even as he stood.  
  
“Alright, Trashykawa, you’re up,” he called. “Let’s get this over with.” Oikawa visibly brightened as he trotted behind the counter, following Iwaizumi into one of the back rooms.  
  
“We’d better not catch you two up to anything in there,” Suga called after them from where he was prepping a woman’s piercing site. “Again!” Iwaizumi waved a lazy hand in acknowledgment, but Keiji was amused to note the way Oikawa’s ears and the back of his neck turned a bright red. Keiji stood utterly still for a moment, listening to the chatter behind him. He turned to Suga.  
  
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” he asked.  
  
“I’m busy,” Suga said as he lined a needle up against his client’s eyebrow. Keiji leaned over the half-wall and stuck his lower lip out.  
  
“Koushi, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” he simpered. Suga huffed through his nose and finished the piercing.  
  
“Keiji, you are a grown man who is fully capable of kicking a few girls out of the shop,” he said as he pulled the needle away and picked up the client’s ring. Keiji pouted for a moment longer, but Suga was dead set on ignoring him.  
  
“Alright,” he called, turning away from Suga and facing the packed lobby. “I’m going to need everyone interested in a tattoo or piercing to come up here and make an appointment, and I’m going to need everyone else to leave.” He held up a hand just as the whines started. “There is a lovely cafe next door where you can all wait for Oikawa-san, though I do not recommend letting Iwaizumi-san catch you doing so. Now, if you please.” There were a few minutes of muted chaos as the girls sorted themselves out, most leaving in twos and threes. A few stayed to talk to Keiji about pricing or placement or pain levels. Keiji answered their questions and booked a few appointments, all the time aware that there was something important he was missing.  
  
As the last girl thanked him and left the shop Keiji looked up just in time to see a flash of two-tone hair darting out the door. Keiji pushed it from his mind and called his next client up.  
  
-  
  
“Koushi, did you see that guy leave earlier?” Keiji asked sometime later, staring at the place where the strangely familiar figure had whipped out of sight.  
  
“Oh, you mean the guy from yesterday?” Suga asked, coming to lean against the counter next to him. “Yeah, he was hanging out the whole time, but as soon as you finished with that girl he just bolted. ‘Course, it’s not the first time.” Keiji grimaced.  
  
“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. Suga grinned and opened his mouth, clearly about to torment Keiji. Luckily, at that moment the bell over the door rang.  
  
“Kenma!” Suga called, all but vaulting over the counter. “Kenma, you’ll never guess! Keiji has a-”  
  
“Recalcitrant admirer who came in yesterday for a tattoo, hung out here today hoping to talk to him, then bolted as soon as he had the chance,” Kenma interrupted. “Trust me, I know. He’s Kuro’s best friend. He’s been moping in my apartment all day.”  
  
“Sorry,” Keiji mumbled. Kenma shrugged, moving past the counter to sit at their table.  
  
“It’s not your fault you’re ethereal and intimidating,” he said, without a trace of irony in his voice. Keiji found himself fighting back a blush as he moved to sit next to him.  
  
“I don’t get why people do that,” he said. “It’s not like I’m his soulmate. Why would he be interested in me?” Kenma’s eerily cat-like eyes fixed on Keiji.  
  
“What’s to say you’re not?” he asked. Keiji scoffed.  
  
“I think I would have known if-”  
  
“Did you check?” Kenma interrupted. Keiji stared at him.  
  
“That would be a no,” Suga sighed. “Honestly, Keiji, I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”  
  
“Obviously you should marry him and have ridiculously gorgeous babies.” Kenma stiffened at the sound of Oikawa’s voice. He and Iwaizumi emerged from the back room looking remarkably un-disheveled for having been alone for so long.  
  
“How’d it turn out?” Keiji asked. Oikawa displayed his arm for Keiji’s perusal. Iwaizumi had been slowly covering Oikawa’s back with a massive tree, and today he had drawn the branches down Oikawa’s biceps.  
  
“I still need to do some shading on the blossoms,” Iwaizumi said, “but I think it’s almost done.”  
  
“Not bad,” Suga said, clapping Iwaizumi on the arm. “Keiji could’ve done better, though.”  
  
“Kou-chan! You take that back!” Oikawa screeched. He and Suga started chasing each other around the shop while Iwaizumi egged them on.  
  
“If you need to go hang out in the back you can,” Keiji said softly. Kenma, who had been curling into a smaller and smaller ball in his chair nodded and darted away. Keiji watched him go, wondering about what he had said.  
  
It wasn’t like Kenma to willingly go out of his way, for anything. He usually came into the shop to sketch or paint what Keiji and Iwaizumi inked. He came here for quiet and a judgment-free sanctuary, and they tried to provide that for him. But Kenma didn’t even have a sketchbook with him today. With a final glance at the others Keiji stood and followed Kenma into the back room. He was sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up, thumbing rapidly though his phone.  
  
“One of these days you have to let me give you something,” Keiji said. Kenma didn’t look up from his phone, but the corner of his lip twitched upward.  
  
“You make it sound like an STD,” he said. Keiji grinned.  
  
“Well, they are awfully infectious,” he answered. “And they tend to spread all over a person after the initial outbreak.”  
  
“Maybe someday,” he said. “You’d have better luck with Kuro, though.”  
  
“That would only happen if I ever met Kuroo,” Keiji pointed out. Kenma shrugged.  
  
“I don’t know that I would survive putting the two of you together,” he said. More softly, he added, “I may not have much of a choice, though.”  
  
“Kenma,” Keiji said quietly, sinking down in the client chair. “Why did you come in today?” Kenma’s shoulders stiffened and his legs drew a little closer to his chest.  
  
“Because I’m sick of Bokuto’s moping,” he said. Keiji shook his head.  
  
“You and I both know that’s not all of it,” he said. Kenma exhaled sharply through his nose.  
  
“That’s enough of it,” he answered.  
  
“Kenma-”  
  
“Please, Keiji?” Kenma was looking up at him now, an indecipherable emotion dancing in his eyes. “Just- I can’t tell you, okay? But it has to do with Bokuto, and I don’t know how to fix it.” Keiji considered his friend for a moment.  
  
“Is there any way you could convince him just to come in and talk?” he asked. “Or meet me somewhere else?” Kenma shook his head.  
  
“I don’t think he’d come if he knew you were expecting him. He’d chicken out.” Kenma folded his arms on top of his knees and rested his chin on them. “But you could always corner him somewhere he can’t run away.”  
  
“You want me to go to the library?” Keiji asked. Kenma nodded.  
  
“It’s not like you don’t go there anyway,” he pointed out. “Please, I know you don’t like doing this sort of thing, but if you just talk to him it’d mean a lot.”  
  
“A lot of quiet for you?” Keiji teased. Kenma nodded, unabashed. Keiji sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I want you to know that I am only agreeing to this because I care so much about you.”  
  
“Your sentiments are appreciated,” Kenma droned. “Really. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Keiji snorted.  
  
“Alright, when does his shift start?” he asked.  
  
-  
  
Koutarou closed the book with a decisive snap, beaming down at the rapt faces gathered around him.  
  
“And that’s all for today,” he said. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll read the next chapter, okay?” Several kids nodded, eyes wide. Koutarou stood to put the book back behind the desk, chuckling to himself as he watched them all scatter.  
  
“You are very good with them,” said a soft voice from somewhere behind him. Koutarou smiled.  
  
“It’s what I love,” he said, straightening. “Is there anything I can help-” He cut off sharply when his eyes fell on the Akaashi, looking especially beautiful in a dark red cardigan that didn’t quiet cover the tendrils of ink curling under his collar bones.  
  
“Actually, I was here to talk to you,” he said, smiling kindly at Koutarou. For his part, Koutarou managed not to swoon, but it was a close thing.  
  
“S-sure,” he stuttered, glancing at the clock. “I’m technically on break now, so we can go outside if you like?” Akaashi’s smile widened and he nodded. Koutarou swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and led the way to the courtyard where most of the employees took their breaks. He sat down at a table, trying to calm his racing heartbeat when Akaashi sat across from him.  
  
“I should be honest with you,” Akaashi said, looking down at the table. “I am really only here at Kenma’s request. I do not venture outside of my own circle much.” He looked up and Koutarou had to remind himself not to just sit there and stare into his eyes.  
  
“Uh, right,” he mumbled. “Listen, if this is about me coming to the shop yesterday, I promise it won’t happen again. I just had this crazy idea, and I realized it was stupid, so when you were done talking to people I just kinda panicked and ran. But, yeah, I won’t bother you anymore.”  
  
“I think you should.” Koutarou jumped at the intensity of Akaashi’s voice. He was staring down at where Koutarou’s hands were resting on the table, at his wrist where the needle of his compass was pointing directly at Akaashi. Slowly, with his hands visibly trembling, Akaashi pulled up the sleeve of his cardigan to reveal his own compass, intricately decorated and pointing at Koutarou.  
  
-  
  
Bokuto became a common fixture at the shop after that. He popped up during his lunch breaks and after his shifts, spending his entire days off lounging around in the employees area. He flirted with Suga, arm wrestled with Iwaizumi, and stared at Keiji whenever they were in the same room, always with that dopey, disbelieving look on his face. Several customers had commented on it already, and if Keiji had to endure one more smug look from Suga he was going to scream.  
  
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to Bokuto. He was so earnest, so sincere in his adoration of Keiji even though they had barely known each other a few weeks. He was always holding the door open or bringing Keiji coffee or complimenting him on his hair or his design or his eyes or his very existence and it was difficult not to be flattered. Still-  
  
“Bokuto-san, you need to stop bringing me flowers,” Keiji scolded, praying Bokuto wouldn’t notice just how hard he was blushing.  
  
“You don’t like them?” Bokuto asked.  
  
Oh.  
  
Oh no.  
  
He was deflating, wilting and curling in on himself like a kicked puppy. Iwaizumi was shooting him an offended look as though he had just taken a child’s toy. There were genuine tears gathering in Bokuto’s eyes, and laughter-induced ones in Suga’s.  
  
“No, I do, I do,” Keiji assured, holding the bouquet a little closer to himself. “I’m just running out of places to put them.”  
  
It was true. Keiji’s apartment was full to bursting with flowers in everything from vases to coffee mugs, and the shop wasn’t much better. A client had asked if they were trying to transition into a florist earlier that day.  
  
“Sorry, Akaashi,” Bokuto sniffed. Keiji sighed and set the flowers on the table.  
  
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I really do love it when you bring them. It’s just that when I have too many I can’t take care of them all. And I hate watching them die, because they’re from you.” Keiji couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Iwaizumi was never going to let him live this down.  
  
“Really?” It was worth it, Keiji decided, when Bokuto perked up. He puffed out his chest and smiled that obnoxious grin of his. Keiji rolled his eyes and shoved his shoulder playfully.  
  
“Don’t you have some kids to go read to?” he asked. Bokuto glanced at the clock and stiffened.  
  
“Yeah, I should’ve been there two minutes ago,” he said.  
  
“Go!” Keiji laughed, shoving at his arms and chest. Bokuto grinned down at him, refusing to budge.  
  
All at once he swooped down and pressed his lips to Keiji’s cheek.  
  
“I’ll see you when I get off,” he murmured. Then he was gone, dashing out of the shop and jogging down the street. Keiji stood, stunned, in the middle of the shop, his fingertips pressed to the place where he could still feel the ghost of Bokuto’s kiss.  
  
“Bokuto and Keiji, sitting in a tree.” Suga rolled his chair over to Iwaizumi, leaning his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder as he sang. Keiji rolled his eyes.  
  
“Oh, like you’re any better,” he accused. “Last time Tsukishima-san came to visit you were sighing dreamily until after lunch.”  
  
“Yeah,” Suga breathed, his eyes fluttering closed.  
  
“Speaking of, where’s Tanaka?” Iwaizumi asked. “He was supposed to bring by a new sketch for me.” Suga dug a paper out of his pocket and handed it to Iwaizumi.  
  
“Couldn’t make it,” he said. “Something about a Bro-mergency with Noya. I didn’t ask.”  
  
“Smart,” Iwaizumi commented.  
  
Keiji let their conversation wash over him, staring down at the flowers Bokuto had brought that day. Just a few weeks since he had met his soulmate and already he was sure. He had spent his entire life wanting this feeling, wanting the security of knowing that the person he was meant for was meant for him as well. The giddiness of knowing that he was wanted by his perfect match. But he had always wondered.  
  
He remembered being a child and watching his soulmate move around the world in minute flicks of the line on his wrist. He remembered being a college student and watching Suga fall into the messy love he shared with his two soulmates. He remembered meeting Iwaizumi and starting the shop and seeing the utter love in his eyes whenever Oikawa wasn’t watching, seeing the false anger and exasperation whenever he was.  
  
He remembered his mother’s grey, listless needle, and how much that had scared him.  
  
Keiji had always had a rational mind. He had refused to entertain the idea of love outside of what was dictated; too many people he knew had tried and gotten hurt by it anyway. But he also knew that a soul bond was not a guarantee of happiness either. He saw the bags under Iwaizumi’s eyes when Oikawa self-destructed, and the tension in Suga’s shoulders when Tsukishima and Tanaka were fighting. And he had seen the proof of his mother’s loneliness. So he had promised himself as a child when he had stood on a stage in a park with his violin and his mother had wondered if his soulmate was in the crowd that he would not let himself get swept up right away. He would wait and take things slow.  
  
There was nothing slow about Bokuto. He was loud and brash, always laughing and shouting and sulking and hating himself and loving everything else. He played with kids and gathered them all until they were sitting, silent and enraptured at his feet. He charmed clients and listened to Iwaizumi talk him through processes with wide, bright eyes.  
  
And he looked at Keiji as though he was looking at the stars themselves.  
  
It was a lot to take in after so long of willing himself to wait.  
  
Bokuto made him feel like anything was possible, like the rules didn’t matter. He made Keiji feel like the best option might be to throw all caution to the wind and do something crazy. He made him feel like it might be worth it after all.  
  
“Hey, Hajime,” he said slowly, still staring at the flowers. “I need a favor.”  
  
-  
  
Koutarou was in the clouds. He was above the clouds. He was floating somewhere in the center of the universe where everything started and the light was the most ancient thing there ever was.  
  
Akaashi was holding his hand, letting it swing gently between them as they walked back to his apartment.  
  
It had been a quiet night, dinner at the kind of restaurant that Koutarou wasn’t sure he was actually allowed into and then a walk through the park near his place when Akaashi had suggested they turn in as if there was nothing else to it. Koutarou prayed his palm wasn’t sweating too much as he followed Akaashi through a surprisingly normal-looking lobby and over to a set of elevators.  
  
“You’ll have to forgive the mess,” Akaashi said as they stood side-by-side in the elevator. “I’m afraid I only just moved in about a month ago, so there are still some boxes and-”  
  
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Koutarou interrupted, squeezing Akaashi’s hand. “’Sides, it can’t be anywhere near as bad as my place. My roommate’s an absolute slob.” Akaashi cracked a smile at that and led Koutarou down the hall, still holding his hand the entire time. They stopped outside a door with Akaashi’s name written in neat kanji on the plate and Koutarou had to stop himself from bouncing in place as Akaashi dug a key out of his bag. The door swung open and Koutarou followed Akaashi into-  
  
A perfectly normal apartment. There were a line of hooks for coats and a pair of house slippers in the gekkan. There was a living room and a cramped kitchen and a hallway leading off to one side. There were boxes tucked in one corner opposite a bookshelf and a desk, and there was a couch and coffee table in lieu of a kotatsu. There were a few bouquets scattered around, all of them from Koutarou. He grinned so hard his face started to sting.  
  
“This is awesome, Akaashi,” he said. Akaashi looked at him as if he had grown another head, and he only grinned wider. “No, really,” he insisted. “I was sure you lived in some sort of palace or super high-tech space ship or something. This is so normal. It’s great!”  
  
“Bokuto-san, why would I live in a palace?” Akaashi asked, though he was smiling, a fond light in his eyes as he regarded Koutaoru.  
  
“Because you’re an angel?” Koutarou answered. “Because you’re pretty and sophisticated  and-”  
  
“And I work at a tattoo parlor,” Akaashi finished for him. “Honestly, I am a perfectly ordinary person, Bokuto-san.” Koutarou shook his head.  
  
“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he insisted. “If you told me you slept on sheets made of gold and woke up to a serenade by a live symphony I would probably believe it without a second thought.” A vivid blush rose to Akaashi’s cheeks and he hid it in Koutarou’s shoulder.  
  
“I don’t understand how I can deserve you,” he whispered, his voice muffled. Koutarou cocked his head to one side.  
  
“Pretty sure you deserve a lot better,” he said. Akaashi only shook his head, bringing one trembling hand up to rest on the small of Koutarou’s back.  
  
“I have something to show you,” Akaashi said, still not pulling his head away, “but I’m nervous.”  
  
“What’s there to be nervous about?” Koutarou asked, then thought better. “You’re not a serial killer, are you? Because that would be just my luck.” Akaashi snorted. Koutarou was sure he had never heard a more beautiful snort in all his life.  
  
“No, it’s nothing like that,” he said. He pulled away to look up at Koutaoru with his eyes shining and his lip caught between his teeth again. He stepped back and pulled off his cardigan, setting it neatly on the counter, then reached for the hem of his shirt.  
  
What he revealed was enough to stop Koutarou’s breath and leave him speechless for the rest of his days.  
  
He had seen the tattoos on Akaashi’s collar bones before, a matching pair of tribal swirls just below the bone. But now every inch of his torso was covered in something new, something colorful and intricate and incredible.  
  
They were flowers. Dozens of them, ranging in size from a thumbnail to a fist, in every type and color that Koutarou could imagine. When he twisted to put his shirt aside, Koutarou caught sight of more of them, covering his back just as thickly. Koutarou let out a shaky breath, his eyes tracing over them in wonder.  
  
“They’re beautiful,” he whispered. “When did you get all this?” Akaashi smiled sheepishly, his hands moving in an aborted motion as though he wanted to cross his arms or rub at the back of his neck.  
  
“I had Iwaizumi-san do them over the last month or so,” he said. “I wanted to get something to remind me of you, and once I started I just felt like it wasn’t enough.”  
  
“F-for me?” Koutarou’s voice was small and lost in the back of his throat. He couldn’t imagine someone doing something like this, covering themselves in a masterpiece, and then saying that he was the reason behind it. But Akaashi only nodded.  
  
“You kept bringing me flowers,” he said. “And I loved them so much, but I hated it when they died. So I figured that if I had them inked, they would never die.” There was something in Akaashi’s voice, something scared and uncertain. In that moment Koutarou knew that he would do whatever he could to keep that fear from this boy’s heart. He reached out to brush his fingertips along Akaashi’s stomach before curling a hand around his waist and pulling him close.  
  
“You are the most precious thing there is, Keiji,” he whispered into Akaashi’s hair. All at once Akaashi slumped in his hold, leaning against Koutarou as though he simply couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Koutarou smiled and held him a little closer. “I know we haven’t known each other long,” he continued, “and I don’t want to scare you away. God, that’s the last thing I want to do. But Akaashi, I have to tell you something, and I want you to know it’s not just some passing-”  
  
“I love you,” Akaashi blurted. Koutarou stiffened, everything stopping in its tracks. “It’s crazy and it’s against everything I ever thought about how relationships work, but I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He was trembling, shaking in Koutarou’s arms.  
  
“I-” Koutarou’s voice cracked and hot tears were springing to his eyes. “I love you too,” he whispered. “I love you so much.” Akaashi whined and pressed himself harder against Koutarou, who only smiled and held him tighter.  
  
-  
  
Keiji woke to the morning light sweeping into his bedroom. He was alone, but the other side of bed was still warm, and Bokuto’s shirt was still sitting on the nightstand. Keiji could hear the clinking of dishes being moved around in the kitchen.  
  
With a sigh and a luxurious stretch Keiji rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling with a smile wide enough to hurt. He glanced down at his compass and smiled even wider.  
  
Bokuto was moving, pacing back and forth in the kitchen, and the gold line on Keiji’s wrist was following his every move. It stilled when he heard the water in the sink turn on and then moved again when the toast popped. It swept almost halfway across his wrist when Bokuto stepped over to the fridge, and then back again when he turned on the stove.  
  
Keiji closed his eyes and cradled his wrist close to his chest.  
  
Then he threw back the covers and stood to greet the new day.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://notsuchasecret.tumblr.com)


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